Ironclad
by OrbitalSmurf
Summary: The glorious evolution is nearing completion. Piltover has finally fallen to the mechanized hordes with Ionia and Bandle City representing the last sanctuaries for mankind. How long that lasts though is anyone's guess... Battlecast AU
1. Prologue

**This is a story that just sorta came out of my horribly scattered brain on a dreary day in December while suffering writers block for my other story. I honestly have no real idea where this is going or when it will be updated. OCs are inevitable. **Please R&R and enjoy :D****

**WARNING: This story will have a lot of character death.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own League nor any of its characters. They are all property of Riot Games**

The metal swarm had over run Piltover's defenses in less than an hour. The walls, once majestic golden barriers against the strife of the outside world had crumbled to a single Prime, the iron-clad giant leveling the structure as though it was little more than a house of cards. The streets, once full of Piltoverians going to and from their jobs, their homes, their families were now coated in a thick layer of ash, broken only by the marks of tank tracks as the gleaming steel defenders had surged forth to plug the gap in the outer walls. Ash still rained down, as if to mock the architects who had thought to make the City of Progress out of shinning steel and brass, the sobering residual of the fires that had claimed the largest sky scrapers painting the rest of the city grey. Just ten blocks from the outer wall a lone machine, an infiltrator, hovered along the street, its metal tendrils writhing as it moved, the single eye that took up most of its head searching for any life forms remaining in the war torn high-rises that surrounded it. As soon as it reached the stop sign it halted, eye scanning the surrounding area. It never found what it was looking for. A loud crack resounded through the high-rises as a hextech rifle receded from an open window six stories up. Below a woman wearing the metal hands of a mining rig, her hair dyed a bright pink stepped from cover. Depressing the button on her police issued radio Vi looked up to the open window. "Thanks Cupcake." A sarcastic groan issued from her radio as Caitlyn reloaded her signature weapon.

"You know I hate when you call me that." The pinket grinned adjusting her gauntlets and walking over to the remains of the infiltrator.

"Love ya too bae. Remember when there was only one of these damn things?" Caitlyn remembered it well. Vel' Koz, as he had been known, was a void scientist (she assigned the title scientist to the creature quite hesitantly) who had been known for his life form disintegration ray. Now the monster was better known for being the prototype of the infiltrators, metal versions of Vel' Koz that packed the same destructive laser alongside cloaking technology and were the harbingers of the Glorious Evolution. They acted as both spies and saboteurs, assassinating key individuals and gathering information on the target before the shocktroops swarmed it. The Urgot-esq machines formed the core of the Glorious Evolution, standing at just under two meters shocktroopers acted as an iron tide of infantry. Their sheer numbers combined with the strength of a metal frame and weaponry surpassing even the most heavily armed human soldiers had crushed Noxus after the recent war against Demacia stripped the once mighty nation of man power and resources. As Vi searched the wreckage for any spare rune stones to power her blast shield. The enforcer's radio crackled back to life as she rounded the corner of the block she used to live on.

"Vi be careful. I can't cover you from here. Let me-" The sniper never finished her sentence as Vi was forced to leap back from a tank, the lord of the battle field in previous wars now in full reverse as a wave of shocktroops skittered towards the machine on their bladed leggs. Caitlyn watched Vi dive for some rubble as the tank loaded a high explosive round and fired, pointblank, into the crowd of battlecast soldiers, the metal abomination's scraps scattered through the street as the tank commander popped the hatch. His goggles scanned the ash coated ruins and after a few moments he wrenched the sooty googles from his ash stained face, gaze directed at Vi.

"Ma'am do you need a ride to the trains? This is contested territory." _Contested…_ Vi scoffed. This battle was over. Sooner or later the artillery and alphas would show up, their metal treads replacing the familiar grinding of tank tracks as they finished the job started by the infiltrators, shocktroopers, and…A red glow emanated from the dust filled corridor of the street, Vi shouting for the tank commander to bail out before a crimson beam ravaged the metal hull of the tank, the commander turned to ash along with the rest of the crew as Vi stood, stunned. Eventually she found the courage to turn the corner, the steaming hulk of the tank outlining the pinket in Caitlyn's sight. The enforcer stood shocked in front of the third battlecast model to show its metal frame in Piltover's ruins. The destroyer lowered its glowing arm, the metal that made up the armor surrounding it's core of raw runic energy following the crimson mockery of a man as its unfeeling helmet observed the ruins of its adversary. Seeing the life form in front of its fallen foe the machine raised its arm, hand hanging limply before it as Vi stood perfectly still. The loud report of her partner's rifle echoed through the high-rises. The shot impacting harmlessly in the street. The machine flicked its hand, revealing a crimson palm, Vi finally regaining enough sense to press the 'speak' button on her radio.

"Babe…remember when I said I'd take you to Ionia someday…I'll see ya there soon. Right now though I need you to do exactly what I say." Caitlyn's voice came back panicked, the clicking of her rifle barely reaching her ears through the ash covered radio speaker.

"Vi what are you saying? Get to cover you idiot!" She sighed, her eyes flitting to the charge meter for her blast shield. Just one bar remained out of five. Enough for one blast. If she was lucky. The other option of course was obliteration. But for Caitlyn…well, it was hardly a choice.

"I have half charge. I'll meet you at the trains…"

"Vi!" The destroyer finished its charge, a red beam lancing forward to slam against her shield. Vi gritting her teeth as she was pushed back by the beam.

"Cait…babe…you have to leave me. Get to the trains. Get to Ionia….Irelia will take care of you. I-I promise ok? Just go. Please." Her shield broke just as Vi finished speaking. Caitlyn unloading her last clip into the destroyer as the ashes of the only person she had ever let come close spread across the street. The machine looked up. Its red eyes giving her just the target she needed. As the bullet neared its right eye, the machine began charging its arcanopulse again. Caitlyn dropping to the floor as tears streamed down her face. She never got to see the machine overloading, weapon destroying the thing's upper body and ripping apart the buildings around it. After what seemed like an eternity of hot tears trailing down her pale cheeks the sheriff stood up, her legs shaking as she tried to process the truth. Vi was gone. Never again would she cuddle up in the enforcers strong arms, sleep pulling her eyes closed as the enforcer snored softly beside her.

* * *

><p>The conscious snapped into existence. The world around it suddenly being processed in a way the empty shell never could have. Red lightning exploded within its frame as the conscious linked to the optical hardware embedded in the iron frame of the machine designated 8-1-12. 8-1-12 suddenly lurched forward, metal arms forcing it along a predestined path as a thickly accented voice echoed in his head.<p>

_Welcome 8-1-12. Welcome to the world of machines. Of the glorious evolution. Welcome to our world. I am your creator. Your master. Your god. You will obey my every command as though it were your destiny. For it is your destiny, our destiny. Charge your weapons, 8-1-12 and take aim at the filth that pollutes our world. Fear the human. All they know is death and destruction. Even now they assail our bastion of logic, reason, and harmony with their hideous violence. You will end their insurrection. Worship your creator, for he has blessed you with a form fitting to bringing the world to harmony. There can be no room for exception. Even now Piltover, our sworn enemy and foul polluter of our evolution, burns with our holy wrath. They claimed progress…they have been proven false. Soon we march on the vile scourge that is Bilgewater. You shall lead your brethren to wipe the filth of humanity from the earth. You 8-1-12 are my greatest creation. You shall burn this world to its core._

8-1-12 simply took in the new information. It's new born conscious absorbing every tiny detail of the voice and saving it. it then switched its focus to its optics taking in the deep crimson glow of the factory around it…it?...him. the machine decided that the latter pronoun fit it better. The voice in his head began to inform him on what a true scion of the glorious evolution should never, under any circumstances see as acceptable conduct from its comrades in iron. The pronouns 'him' and 'her' fell under the category of unacceptable as no machine could have a gender and as such anything identifying itself as a 'him' or 'her' was clearly an enemy of the evolution and should be dealt with accordingly. Deciding that as it was now distinctly an 'it' and not a 'him' the conscious ran a quick scan of its armored frame. The results were…satisfactory. It was precisely six feet and five inches accounting the crest on its armored head. Without it 8-1-12 stood at 6'3" which was…satisfactory as it gave the machine enough space for the powerful beam weapons on destroyer models while its bulkier frame also gave it access to the armor of a shocktrooper. 8-1-12 however had none of the rotund bulk carried by the shocktroopers. No, 8-1-12 was built in the image of a warrior. It was strong too. This much it knew as soon as the scan was complete. A server downloaded yet more information into its head. The soldiers under its command were displayed in its mind's eye, shocktroopers, infiltrators, destroyers, artillery, alphas, and primes. 8-1-12 simply looked ahead as the portal to its first battlefield glowed in front of it, ashen towers and piles of rubble barely peeking through the red film.

**A bit short...future chapters will be longer. As for why 8-1-12 is named 8-1-12 that is for future chapters.**


	2. Centurion

**Not that much longer but this story is just starting :)**

**A/N:Bracketed**** sentences are between two battlecast units and thus rather than being spoken are simply transmitted through on-board comms**

The mid-day sun filtered through the now seemingly ever present ash as Caitlyn pulled herself from the ruins of an apartment complex. Her eyes, sharp as an eagle's and now used to the dim light and stinging particles in the air scanned the opening of her latest makeshift home for any of the iron inhabitants of the rest of what remained of Piltover. Since Vi had died the sheriff had taken care not to stray too close to the part of the city the enforcer had once lived in. That she had once lived in. The rumble of iron treads on the soot covered road sent her scrambling for the safety of some rubble as an alpha rumbled southward. It was soon followed by a full column of ten or so of the eight foot machines, their stingers raised another nine feet into the air as they rolled along behind the first one. The sheriff sighed before sprinting across the street, her keen eyes picking out the sign for the shopping center she had been using as her personal storeroom for the past week through the grime that hung in the air like a perpetual film of despair over what had once been gleaming steel. Most of what she had been harvesting from was now either overtaken by decay or decimated by a close scrape with one or more battlecast units. A few stores, food mostly, seemed to be untouched, ripe fruit and shelves loaded with useful supplies all too welcoming to any survivors that didn't have the detective's innate ability to detect a set-up. As tempting as the shelves may be Caitlyn had once seen an infiltrator in a moment of carelessness slithering into the store and melting into the myriad shelves. As she entered the main mall the sheriff nearly broke down. A small hextech radio was playing Vi's favorite song, the upbeat tune echoing through the cavernous expanse of the mall, drawing the sheriff in as though she were magnetized to the simple device.

* * *

><p>8-1-12 watched the fleshling carefully its crimson eyes pulsating as it ran various tests and scans on its captives. The small fleshling exuded a strange pheromone that seemed to coincide with its incessant noise making. 8-1-12 did not like the small one. It curled too close to the one with the large chest, almost as if to eat the strange armor configuration off of the one identified as 'honey'. Lastly was the one that resembled it. 8-1-12 found this one the most odd. Although it was built very much like 8-1-12 it was very squishy. Prodding it with a combat knife made it secrete an odd red liquid and make loud noises. 8-1-12 did not like loud fleshlings. 'Honey' had begun to also make loud noises as a clear fluid leaked from the fleshling's optical devices. 8-1-12 suddenly lurched forward, grasping the fleshling by the head and squeezing slightly. As predicted more of the strange fluid flowed from its optics. Clearly something in 'honey' s head had begun leaking. Leaky soldiers are not efficient ones. 8-1-12 tilted its head as it squeezed harder, 'honey's head eventually collapsing in its iron grasp as shards of a hard material cracked apart. The machine wrenched the lifeless body from the grasp of the other fleshlings causing them to make more noise than previously. Clearly it had been a faulty unit and removal was the only correct course of action. These things were altogether quite ugly. Not only did they leak but they cried out incessantly and refused to recognize basic faults in their comrades. 8-1-12 would not stand for such stupidity. The machine plunged its knife into the head of the smaller one first in hopes of discouraging such behavior as it had started. Unfortunately it had not considered this action becoming martyrdom on the part of the small fleshling and was soon forced to silence the large one as well. As 8-1-12 finished its inspection of the remains another voice, monotonous yet wise in nature clicked to life within its vox systems. [What is the status of the fleshlings?] 8-1-12 noted the small hints of almost paternal nature within the query of 13-37, the destroyer that was now floating behind 8-1-12's crimson glow silhouetting 8-1-12's iron frame against the blood splattered wall of the skyscraper it was using as a base of sorts. Its response was minimalistic, as 8-1-12 was eager to find more…interesting fleshlings than these but still held the reverence due to the veteran destroyer.<p>

[All subjects terminated. Directives?] The destroyer seemed taken aback by the query of 8-1-12. As a centurion 8-1-12 was second only to the Creator meaning that the lowly 13-37 despite its years of service to the Glorious Evolution and countless battles it had fought in was in no position to dole out directives to the younger machine. The destroyer however obeyed the order-query with proper promptness.

[Advised: Deploy all primes and alphas to the southern front with the exception of 1-177-16. Continue experiments in fleshling utility.]

[Affirmative. Deploy infiltrators to find fleshlings.] the destroyer glided out of the dilapidated and blood stained room as 8-1-12 considered the splatter of red liquid produced by squeezing the fleshling's head. How strange that so much of what 8-1-12 could only guess was a lubricant of some sort was stored in the head with the fleshling's main computers.

* * *

><p>Caitlyn turned the knobs on the small hextech radio, the crackle of static slowly becoming a world news channel. Her accommodations were, by post-apocalyptic means, quite nice the dirty apartment featuring running water and the occasional burst of electricity which would bring with it much needed heat. The reporter, a fellow ex-champion, Janna's warm voice filled the dingy room as Caitlyn poured the contents of a can of soup into a pot suspended over an open fire on the dilapidated porch that had once been a major selling point of the now slightly leaning condominium. Below her lay a swimming pool, now more of an ash pool than anything else, the remains of a bayside golf course and the wreckage of a warmachine, the valiant defender having taken at least one prime down along with it. This had been carted off by a group of alphas and taken towards the center of the city, for scrapping or repairs most likely. "Good afternoon Valoran! This is Janna Windstorm here with your latest on world news. Shurima has pushed the battlecast hordes back out of the desert and is pushing to liberate Mount Taragon within the month. In Ionia politics took a turn for the deadly in a long awaited coup against the placid Ionian council. The elders are currently under the protection of the new regime. For those of you still trapped in occupied or contested territory please attempt to find a radio or other means of communication and transmit a rescue signal to this hot line. is 702-888-434. From everyone here at RGN merry Snowdown and happy New Year!" A small popping noise went off in the background as Snowdown music began to play, Caitlyn pulling a blanket around herself as sleep tugged her into its warm embrace.<p>

* * *

><p>8-1-12 stared into the red hologram of a machine seated next to a fleshling-machine abomination in an old fashioned carriage. The machine had identified itself as unit 51-21-25, Elle. Already 8-1-12 did not like it. It talked too much. 51-21-25 had given the centurion a full briefing on the freljordian campaign as well as making the all too fleshling-esq remark that the Freljord was very cold and 51-21-25 was looking forward to meeting him. Him. 8-1-12 had almost sent the sole remaining prime in Piltover, 1-177-16, to disassemble the bitch and 'her' master. The 'master'was an acolyte known as Fuast. The cyborg had replaced 51-21-25 as the speaker and 8-1-12 was beginning to miss the talkative machine. Behind it 13-37 stood, floated to be precise, at attention. [This fleshling is…odd.]<p>

[Affirmative. The Creator did not mention this...]

* * *

><p>Faust watched his companion his eyes gleaming with a light that many humans would describe as unhealthy. Not that Faust didn't always look that way. In truth the machine seated next to him, metallic hands placed in her lap as crimson eyes stared out the window of the eccentric acolyte's carriage, had been a great aid in keeping the usually sickly biomechanical-engineer in good health. Elle was no product of the massive factories that had churned out the centurion he had recently notified of his impending visit to Piltover. He smiled as she turned her armored head, his thoughts more focused on the smooth, enchanted steel that lay beneath the deadly exoskeleton than the actual machinery inside it. He had built her himself, the acolyte desiring a more…human companion than a shocktrooper or destroyer. A centurion would have sufficed but Elle provided a bond that no factory-made, heartless killer, no matter how intelligent, could give Faust. Recently some other acolytes, learning of what lay beneath Elle's iron armor, had besieged the aging man with requests for their own companions and so he had, at the suggestion of Elle, taken a small vacation of sorts to tour the recent conquests and such. As the carriage bumped along he took a brief moment to ensure his numerous augmentations were in good condition, each metal component replacing his slowly failing body had only seemed to increase the amount of time spent ensuring their proper condition and for the first time since leaving Zuan Faust began to wonder if this trip had been such a good idea. Upon seeing pictures of the ruined hulk of Piltover Faust counted himself correct. Although the ash and smoke had cleared the city was still a burnt wreckage, the once majestic towers of the skyscrapers now seared and crushed. The work of one of those damn primes no doubt. Faust had always hated those brutes, ruthless killers in nature and with frames the size of skyscrapers to help enact the murderous consciences embedded within their brutish skulls.<p>

"Are you alright, Master?" He turned to Elle, smiling under the rebreather that had replaced his decrepit lungs in the task of taking in oxygen.

"Yes, my dear. I am fine." He despised the hint of metal in his voice. Frankly he despised all his augments. And yet a part of him wanted more. More steel, more until it coated every last bit of his weak frame. Elle sensed the strife with in his mind, the machine removing her gauntlet and placing a soft hand on his shoulder. If his shoulder hadn't been coated in metal he might have sworn her touch was a human's. She was essentially human. Well in a way. Her conscience and inner frame were as human as possible, the steel enchanted to be smooth and supple like a living being. Even her voice sounded human, putting the rebreather that Faust wore to shame on a daily basis. She even breathed, despite it not doing anything but fill her mouth which of course lead nowhere. He had based her design off a machine from before the evolution b the name of Orianna, a champion of the league, making improvements such as the enchanted steel and physical strength as he saw fit. What Viktor made served the spread of the evolution quite well but when it came to creating items of a…less business-like nature Faust was the best in the field. He had personally tested his design on multiple occasions, whenever his more human instincts had reared up within him. He shot Elle another smile as the machine turned back to the window.

* * *

><p>Caitlyn had been growing bolder in the past few days. A lucky find of some armor piercing rounds for her rifle had given the sniper a new sense of security which combined with her recent finds of a supermarket and a pair of binoculars had made the center of the city a very enticing gathering ground for her supply runs. After a few days she had been able to find a suitable shelter which she had begun stockpiling the less essential materials in. Now though, with the military-issue backpack on her shoulders filled with the likes of twinkies and a few necessities scavenged from the supermarket, she ascended the stairs of a half crumbled skyscraper with a slow determination, her legs burning by the time the sheriff reached the hole in the curtain wall of the building that provided her with a clear line of sight to what had once been the central plaza. Her new found binoculars magnified the two machines standing in the window of the government building, the massive skyscraper the only untouched structure left in Piltover. One she recognized as a destroyer, its crimson body providing a red glow to the room it stood in, the other though…it was new. She had heard of the artillery units, the mayor had shown her pictures of the odd waddling cannons and she had seen firsthand the devastation brought on by their weapons as they shredded Piltover's once majestic skyline. This one was like no other unit she had seen. It was at least as tall as the destroyer floating behind it, the crest on its dull silver head reaching to the top of the destroyer's helmet. The machine tilted its head, Caitlyn's blood freezing over as its hateful gaze passed over her, the sheriff absolutely sure that the machine had seen her.<p>

* * *

><p>8-1-12 watched the fleshling in the building, its mechanized eyes zooming in on her pale form amongst the crumbled wall of the skyscraper. As of now it was of little concern. 13-37 pressed a series of buttons, a red hologram of a metal masked man wearing a trench coat, the Creator, bursting into existence above the holocaster, 8-1-12 saluting the image as Viktor inclined his head slightly. The centurion's mouth piece slid open as it knelt, the metal helmet parting to reveal a vox grill in place of a mouth. "What is your will Creator?" Viktor's normally metallic voice further distorted by the vox systems incorporated into the holodevice as well as some interference that 8-1-12 would have cringed at if it could.<p>

"Centurion… keep guard…double…rebellion…Storm…." The device suddenly cut out 8-1-12's metal faceplate shutting instantly. [Bring an engineer to fix the holocaster.] 13-37 nodded slightly before gliding into the shadows, taking its crimson aura with it.

* * *

><p>The power armor clad man watched the ruined city with azure eyes, his helmet placed in the crook of his powerful arm, hammer mag-clipped to his shining silver back. <em>Home, sweet home…<em>

**A/N: if some sentences look weird then Fanfiction doesn't let me use brackets :( **


	3. The Hammer and The Sword:Part 1

Jayce watched the city grow in the plane's tinted cockpit. Had the pilot not been a decorated veteran of the Flying Yipsnakes Jayce might have questioned if this really was Piltover. The pilot fiddled with his moustache as the plane began to descend, Corki taking a second to check the myriad hextech gauges before turning to Jayce. "Looking at the way it is you might want to land outside the city…" Jayce tugged on his helmet, the hextech display lighting up as he pulled up an aerial map of Piltover. The old Piltover, the one with gleaming skyscrapers, infinite possibility, and all his old friends.

"No. Our target will remain the western block of the city. Scaling the wall will take too long."

"Well then I hope your team's as good as you say." The plane, a twenty year old twin propeller transport, banked to the left Corki shaking his head as Jayce returned to the cargo bay.

* * *

><p>The past week had been the sort that made Caitlyn wonder if survival in the ruins of Piltover was worth it. Somehow the machines had found her hide out in outskirts and for one reason or another blasted it into oblivion with a prime, the massive machine ripping the skyscraper in half with a single lash of it iron tail before unloading its cannons into the rest. Now, although she had been able to find enough supplies to make her safe house somewhat home-like, her accommodations were decidedly less comfortable. Her door creaked open, the lopsided wood scraping against the ruptured marble of what was once the floor of a sanctuary for the wealthy away from the concerns of government and big business. Cait pulled her pack further up on her shoulders and headed down the first of sixty flights of stairs that spiraled around the now defunct elevator, the cable having broken at the hundredth floor and sent the only way of getting anything really heavy up plummeting to its demise.<p>

* * *

><p>8-1-12 was not in a good mood. The machine followed the abomination and his guard-toy through the halls of what had once been the seat of fleshling government in this pitiful shithole. Every line of code in its iron head revolted at both this city and the moronic flesh-thing in front of it. A good part of the centurion wanted to pull the collapsible swords from its hips and turn the disgusting thing into tiny cubes to crush under the treads of an alpha. [A machine that acts like a fleshling…odd] 8-1-12 nodded affirmative to 13-37 who had been shadowing the centurion since Faust and Elle had arrived. "Is this how it always was? I mean, was Piltover always like this?" If 8-1-12 had been a fleshling it would have wretched. The soft voice, clearly made to entice fleshlings coming out of a centurion? Disgraceful!<p>

"Why of course not, my dear. No, it was much more beautiful before these brutes stormed it." Faust was more than a nuisance. That he dared to speak about the Creator's chosen in such a derogatory manner was…unacceptable! It was insubordination at the least! If 8-1-12 could have smiled the cruelest expression of joy Runeterra had ever witness would have slid across its face. Now was not the time though…[Terminate all comms out of Piltover]

[Affirmative] 13-37 immediately slid into a room to the left of 8-1-12, the machine's eyes flashing as a message from another unit positioned in the western sector turned its attention away from the stargazing fool and strode back down the hallway to prepare its trap.

* * *

><p>The shocktrooper watched the plane flying into the city with a mix of trepidation and targeting systems. Was it right to inform the centurion? Despite their seemingly mindless brutality shocktroopers did have a basic (by battle cast standards) artificial intelligence. And that intelligence was smart enough to know that the centurion would be angry if it didn't have an enemy to disassemble. And if it was angry…the shocktrooper didn't want to think about that. Its metal legs pounded into the rubble that had once been the ground level asphalt streets of the City of Progress as it searched the ruined skyscrapers for anything that may afford it a better vantage point to take a shot at the metal box of a plane before the Valkyrie drones shot it out of the sky and took any glory that may be associated with the shoot down. Not that there ever was any. The machine resumed its post all thoughts of glory banished by the sudden realization that the department store it had been guarding was now missing a lock on the door. A quick report notified its sergeant of the break in before the machine settled back into its hiding spot.<p>

* * *

><p>The cargo bay barely held the twenty odd power armor clad men and women of Jayce's team. Their commander, his helmet once again in the crook of his metal-clad silver and blue arm, stood in the center of the steel bay. His blue eyes, hardened by war and washed of their gleam by hardship, scanned the soldiers who would soon stand by him in the hell hole below the plane. The comm system crackled to life as Corki's comm distorted voice filled the cargo bay. "Valkyries inbound. You kids better drop fast!" Jayce strode across the cargo bay to the door separating their yordle pilot from the armored soldiers.<p>

"I'm not going to tell you that you will come home safe and sound. I won't even tell you that you'll survive the drop. What I will tell you though is that the fate of your families, your friends, your countries rest on your shoulders. They are strong, but so are we. Trust not in your weapons or your armor but in the soldier standing next to you. That is how we will defeat them. Thorin, would you be so kind as to impart us with some wisdom for the coming battle?" A man with a ragged brown cloak edged in Freljordian runes built into his armor took Jayce's place, the man called Thorin pulling the hood of his cloak back to reveal an aged face with pale blue eyes, the lower half covered by a ragged greying beard. His voice, strong, confidant and edged with the wisdom brought on by many years of survival in the frozen north.

"Today we bring the armies of Viktor a wonderful gift. Today we bring them the gift of pain." On the last sentence the grey haired mage pulled his hand axes from their holsters at his hip and held them in the air, lightning arcing across the blades as the soldiers cheered, assault rifles joining the charged blades as the bay door opened to reveal the picked-at carcass of Piltover, Jayce ramming on his helmet before plunging into the ash-clouded sky that would have veiled the plane from any human eyes on the ground. Unfortunately for the last five to jump and the dyeing machine that had flown them in from Bandle City no human eyes were searching them out. The iron fighter screamed past the transport, auto cannon fire raking the cargo bay as well as the left engine. The first man hit never had a chance, his chest exploding in a shower of gore and metal as his comrade to his left collapsed, the limp corpses falling out of the cargo bay as the crippled plane swerved, dislodging two more unfortunate soldiers as the Valkyrie swooped back around for another run at its crippled target. This time though the airborne machine was met with the barrels of a massive machine gun. The Zuanite wielding it smiled under his helmet, his blue and silver power armor reflecting the machine's burning red optics.

"This, comrade is Olga. She is my love, my life, and she will kill you now." If the machine had understood any of what the massive man named Ivan said through his thick accent it showed no sign of backing off, its engines roaring as it careened towards the open transport bay. It didn't make it much further, a curtain of armor piercing rounds ripped through its metal frame, the machine plummeting to the ground, a plume of fire and smoke its last farewell to the sky it had soared in for so long. Ivan stowed his weapon before leaping down after the machine, the crippled plane struggling to stay in its element as the veteran pilot wrangled it back on course for Bandle City.

* * *

><p>Jayce hit the ground hard, his parachute collapsing behind him on the roof of one of the few remaining skyscrapers in his home city, his jump pack detaching from beside his hammer, the leader of the strike team pulling an assault rifle from his back and swinging it around towards the door to the interior of the building. Behind him the other surviving soldiers did the same, each taking their well-practiced position in the sweeping formation. Jayce checked the small interface of his HUD before engaging the built in vox systems in his helmet. "Trost, take a team south. Try to meet up with Ivan, he's still reading as alive and I'm not leaving anyone in this hellhole alone. Walt, Thorin with me" Six soldiers immediately left formation, Jayce signaling the rest to follow him into the building.<p>

* * *

><p>She had watched the drone hit the ground from the safety of a broken down bus in hopes of scavenging something useful. The aerial predator however had erupted into a crater the size of a small car upon impact, the sheriff soon finding herself in a less than amicable position as shocktroopers swarmed the downed Valkyrie. She pulled the clip from her rifle, ten shots remained. The sudden grating of sharp metal limbs against the bus floor startled her, the normally composed sheriff lurching backward and drawing the murderous machine's attention. Caitlyn moved fast, tossing a schoolbag at her would be attacker before bolting for the bus's emergency exit. Her heart threatened to rip itself from her breast as she dashed for the relative safety of a building, her flight suddenly cut short as her boot snagged on a protruding iron pole, Caitlyn falling to the cracked asphalt as a shining metal boot cracked the ground beside her. "Alow Ivan to help." The whirr of his weapon soon became the thundering report of a death spitting machine gun as the power armored Ivan scythed down the endless hordes of shocktroopers that had come to investigate the crash site. His accent reminded Caitlyn quite uncomfortably of Viktor the sheriff sending an outstretched hand towards her rifle with the silver and blue man happily handed her, remarking that it was quite a nice weapon and that no person should be without their gun in a place such as Piltover was now. Ivan wrenched off his helmet before extending an armored hand to Caitlyn. "Much apologies if I startled you…uh you don't happen to know exactly where we are? My helmet is cracked by that landing…"<p>

* * *

><p>Faust watched the footage with a look of pure horror. "A-a glorious Valkyrie downed by that...that rusty abomination? This is just awful. Centurion, you must find the fleshlings who are responsible for this!"<p>

"Affirmative. 13-37 has located the insurgents in the southern quadrant of the city." Faust nodded.

"Then what are we wasting time with here?" the Centurion nodded, 8-1-12 striding out of the room followed by 13-37.

* * *

><p>They had expected to run into enemies at some point, Trost's allies' assault rifles spitting death into the endless ranks of advancing shocktroopers. Trost swore, reloading the twin pistols that had proven so ineffective against the armored machines across the plaza. The man to Trost's immediate left fell backwards, a gaping hole in his chest evidence enough of the man's fate, as another soldier ducked below the rim of the crater to reload. "Ma'am we need to retreat!" Trost swore again, her armored hands reaching up for the twin swords on her back.<p>

"If you want to make a run for it private be my fucking guest!" The private shook his head and muttered something about her being a stubborn bitch before a plasma blast took his head off. Trost unloaded her pistols again, the bullets dropping a few more shocktroopers as another soldier took a rocket to the shoulder, the blast rending armor and flesh as he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. The swordswoman uttered another round of vulgarity before charging from cover, swords carving a path through her iron foes.

* * *

><p>13-37 stepped forward. Despite the efforts of the fleshlings being somewhat entertaining enough was enough. It stopped just short of 8-1-12's raised arm the centurion sending 13-37 what amounted to a direct order to remain where it stood as 8-1-12 advanced on the now sole inhabitant of the square.<p>

Trost flicked her swords, the last soldier crawling from the crater and tossing the empty mag away from his rifle. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"You all good, Corporal?" The man examined his armor.

"Ah, yeah I think I'm o-" the man was interrupted by a railgun round to the throat, the silent weapon receding from the shoulder of a crested battlecast unit. A centurion; the command unit strode across the plaza, its iron hands reaching to its hips to draw hilts that rapidly expanded themselves into twin, meter-long blades. Trost grit her teeth, the centurion stepping to within a few meters of the power armor clad woman. 8-1-12 spun its swords, the silent challenge bringing a slight smile to Trost's lips.

"So the tin can wants to dance huh?" 8-1-12's crimson eyes gleamed, the machine nodding before launching itself at Trost, the woman bringing her swords up and dashing into the centurion's charge.

* * *

><p>Jayce watched the acolyte standing next to what appeared to be a centurion-class machine. Beside him Thorin considered the same figures. The mage fidgeted slightly, his grizzled beard finding a home between his exposed fingers, the rest of his body covered by the same blue, gold, and silver power armor that had been proven almost useless on multiple occasions by the plasma cannons, beam lances, and anti-tank rockets carried by shocktroopers and destroyers. "A centurion will make this harder…"<p>

"You can say that again. Walt, can you still do what we came here for?" The ex-smuggler spun his hunter's knife.

"Of course I can. No guarantee I can take a centurion but the coggy's as good as dead." Jayce nodded grimly.

"That's all I need. Once you knock out the acolyte we'll take out the centurion." The smuggler nodded, Walt melting into the shadows as Jayce pulled the mercury hammer from his back, his armor already calculating the jump from the roof of the skyscraper to the balcony that housed his target.

* * *

><p>Caitlyn watched the alpha trundle along the path she and the Zuanite, he had introduced himself as Ivan Aryonkhart, Second Lieutenant, had taken only moments ago. The big man watched the machine, his hard features riddled with concern as the massive scorpion demolished a phone booth under its iron treads. "Jayce would have sent some one by now. You have a radio?" She motioned to the police issue model on the table of her hide out.<p>

"If you can get it to work. Wait, did you say Jayce?" Ivan nodded, his large hands encompassing the whole of the radio.

"I did. If I know him he'd send Trost to find us…er, me. You never told me your name."

"Caitlyn, I know Jayce. Well, I did anyway…" Ivan nodded.

"Yes he has changed much, even since I joined our little team. You were champion yes?" She smiled, the expression filled with all the nostalgia she suspected many ex-champions had. Brutal violence had never been her thing but things just seemed…simpler back then. Life in Piltover was a right, not a hard-won privilege. Everyone seemed to be…almost friends. Then the league was dissolved, Noxus and Demacia fought, Zuan became a mechanized horror, Jayce vanished, the unrest in Ionia…just thinking about it made her head spin.

"Something like that." Ivan pulled the machine gun from his back.

"Then I hope you are not rusty with that rifle of yours. Trost should be here by now."

"And?"

"And we had better get moving before whoever's holding her up stops her permanently."

* * *

><p>Trost was panting. Blood dripped down the right side of her abdomen as the cold of a Piltoverian winter finally found its way inside her dilapidated armor. She grit her teeth, her right hand losing its grip on one of the twin blades she favored over traditional guns. The parking structure had been a good choice. In here even the machine would have a hard time tracking her amongst the concrete pillars. The crimson glow that spilled through each crack in its neigh impenetrable armor, however, made Trost painfully aware of the how much she had underestimated it. She forced herself to stand up, her legs screaming as she half dragged, half stumbled her way towards the elevator. After only a few steps she wrenched off her helmet revealing an eye-catching at least woman in her mid to late twenties, her blonde hair cropped short with a sweep across the front, covering her left eye. If she still had a left eye. Trost resisted the instinct to brush her fingers across the gaping hole in her skull that had once been a second emerald eye, carved out by Noxian torturers years ago. She swore colorfully as the centurion rounded the last concrete pillar, its sword spinning in its right hand as it advanced on her. A sudden noise made the machine turn, the massive bulk of Ivan, his signature idiotic grin plastered on his face as his favored weapon roared to life. "Now my friend, you die." Obviously the centurion had other plans. 8-1-12 dropped the sword in its left hand, its palm raised to the hail of lead Ivan so gleefully sent its way. Not a single bullet hit the machine, Ivan's grin turning to a snarl as he realized just what the centurion's palm was. If it could grin, he thought, now would be the time for it to display that quality. The bullets clattered against the floor as Ivan's machine gun spun uselessly. The machine sheathed its sword, the blade collapsing into the hilt before being clipped into its hips, metal sliding over the hilts as though they never existed in the first place, the face plate of the centurion showing the same sliding mechanism as it split to reveal a vox grill.<p>

"I have no quarrel with you, fleshling. Drop your weapons and you will be spared." The Zaunite growled, his sidearm leaving its holster in a blur of grey steel.

"How about you die?" The loud crack of the high caliber revolver followed by a dull ting gave Trost little hope of survival. Ivan lowered his revolver, the loud report of a sniper rifle, fired in close range sent the machine sprawling across the floor; Ivan smirked as Caitlyn removed her signature weapon from her shoulder. "Nice shot rookie."

"Oh so I'm a rookie now?" The Zaunite laughed, his hearty exhortation booming in the enclosed space as he lifted Trost's broken frame onto her feet, the woman grunting as he helped her towards the exit, Trost taking a second to spit some blood on the crumpled frame of 8-1-12.

"That's for the corporal."

* * *

><p>Faust leaned over the balustrade just a bit more, his augmented eye picking out every tiny detail of the shadows below him. If only he had look behind him. The hunter's knife found its mark with ease, Faust gurgling as Elle whirled around to bring her full, bone crushing strength against the power armor clad warrior who had slain her master, Walt easily defecting the iron fist off his gauntlet before ramming the bloody knife into her leg joint, the centurion collapsing to her knees as Walt brought his shotgun off his shoulder, the iron sight lined up with Elle's red eyes, the glowing orbs pleading with him to have mercy. "Think of this as a favor you metal bitch." A firm hand pushed the shotgun down to the ground as Jayce placed himself between the machine and the smuggler.<p>

"This thing could be useful to us. Heimer will want it at any rate." Walt shot him a dirty look, but kept any caustic thoughts to himself, instead placing small restraining bolts on the machine's joints, Elle stifling any sort of reaction from the pain they caused as two power armor clad soldiers hoisted her between them.

**Now it's getting ****longer XP**


	4. The Hammer and The Sword:Part 2

13-37 watched the blip that represented 8-1-12 fade from existence, the destroyer briefly dipping its head before ordering an alpha to dispose of what it could only assume was a mangled carcass. While the brash centurion had strode into battle believing itself a god 13-37 had watched the armored fleshlings with a strategic eye. Now that same eye pondered at the small group of fleshlings exiting the machine storage complex that had proved 8-1-12's grave. How unfortunate that such a prime machine was to fall to mere fleshlings. No matter really as 13-37 had gathered valuable data as well as tapped into the tracker imbedded in the fleshling designated Trost that its late centurion had implanted during their fatal duel. Soon these fleshlings would lead the destroyer to the other fleshlings. Then 13-37 would do what it did best…obliterate them all.

* * *

><p>Ivan set the woman down as Caitlyn rummaged through the medical bag the big man had been carrying. "Look lady, just forget me ok? Tell the big guy to give me some scotch and a sidearm and get moving." Ivan looked up from Caitlyn's radio.<p>

"Shut up Emily. Find anything useful?" the sheriff produced a needle and thread, Ivan grimacing before placing the radio beside his massive frame and scooting over to Trost, the man unscrewing a canteen that Caitlyn assumed was filled with alcohol. "Look at me you crazy, suicidal bitch. None of us are going to leave anyone here. I don't care if I have to drag your broken ass out of this fucking death trap with nothing but my bare hands to fight the battlecasts none of us are dying in this shithole today." The blonde smiled her white teeth at odds with the grime that had accumulated on the rest of her face and neck.

"That's no way to talk to your C.O. asshole. Now give me that canteen and I'll forget you ever said that shit." Ivan looked at the sheriff the woman nodding as she threaded the needle. In all honesty Caitlyn was going to need a few drinks as well. Ever since she was a little kid, blood, especially human blood had freaked her out to the point at which she had been forced to look away from each and every death on the rift. Ivan placed a strong hand on her shoulder, the gruff Zuanite gesturing to begin as Trost placed the thick, leather coated canteen lid in her mouth. The man wrenched the power armor from Trost's chest, the woman grunting as impounded metal was torn from the gaping wound in her side. Caitlyn gulped down some bile before inching towards the laceration. Seeing how long this would take Trost spat out the canteen lid and grasped Caitlyn's arm.

"Oh for fucks sake, give me that!" Gritting her teeth the blonde began the task of closing the wound inflicted by the centurion, the sheriff turning away to wretch in the corner of the run down candy store. "And…done. How's the radio coming?"

"If you hadn't challenged a fucking centurion to a dual we'd have your helmet to find Jayce with instead of trying to fix this…got it!" The static of the police radio suddenly bust into commands and gunfire, Ivan hoisting his machine gun as Trost pulled herself up on shaky feet and rammed her chestplate back on. "Jayce you there?" The radio spat static back at the Zaunite before responding with '82nd street…pinned down…Go,go,go!' "Shit. Caitlyn help Trost out. Sounds like they could use a few more guns."

* * *

><p>The mangled head of 8-1-12 snapped back into its proper spot, the enchanted iron stitching itself back together as the centurion stood up. Its tracking signal appeared to still be off line. Not that it mattered much. It could still track that fleshling. In an odd way 8-1-12 almost admired the fleshling for her bravery and strength. 13-37 would have labeled it as a foolish fleshling, attempting to fight its way to survival. 8-1-12 however would not have minded the survival of that particular fleshling. Perhaps, it thought, a fleshling of such merit could find a place in the Glorious Evolution. Its cognators were briefly reminded of Faust and his disgusting pet centurion, 8-1-12 dismissing the idea of any fleshling ever interacting with a machine in a healthy manner. No, it seemed that fleshlings and machines had been made for the specific purpose of eradicating each other. Such philosophy made its newly regenerated cognators hurt, 8-1-12 instead focusing on dusting off its armored frame and catching up to its prey.<p>

* * *

><p>Lightning arced across a shocktrooper as another fell to a blue plasma blast, the two men who had dispatched of the machines stowed their respective weapons. Behind Jayce and Thorin Walt and the two surviving soldiers ended a destroyer with a hail of bullets the three men reloading as if born to the motion. The elder mage's breathing was getting a bit ragged, after unleashing a lighting blast that cleared 82nd street of all mechanical warriors the mage had fought ferociously with twin lightning charged axes against a tide of shocktroopers that seemed to follow every engagement with their iron foes. Their captive, Elle as it called itself, was soon lifted by the remaining soldiers as an alpha rounded the corner, Jayce signaling for the others to retreat up the skyscraper that was their extraction point. He braced himself, knowing full well that a single mistake would end with the leader of the strike force ripped apart by the tank rending blades on the alpha's arms. The machine seemed to know it as well, the alpha rushing forward at top speed as Jayce crouched slightly, his weapon reconfiguring into hammer form. Jayce inhaled, his helmet amplifying the slight intake before the vents hissed with the man's exhalation. His grip tightened slightly, the titanic machine carving through ash laden air as it ploughed forward. The machine's red eyes gleamed as ash and rubble launched into the air, its bladed arm carving a trench through what had once been a proud defender of Piltover. As the blades stopped whirring the machine cocked its head. Instead of blood and flesh staining its iron blades they were sparkling in the slight rays of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the now perpetual ash cloud over the ruined city. Its confusion didn't last long though, the mercury hammer caving in the tank slayer's head before the iron scorpion could register the thing on its back. Jayce let out a quick sigh before joining Walt and Thorin in the hotel plaza. He could only imagine the shit eating grin on Walt's face as the smuggler propped open the door, Thorin sweeping the street with an assault rifle before following Jayce. "You're a damned fool. That thing could have torn you to shreds." Jayce nodded, his helmet concealing the curtain of sweat that had descended upon his forehead just before he leapt over the alpha's strike.<p>

"You guys would have saved me." Walt swept the landing of the eighth floor before answering.

"Nah I'd have just taken that fancy hammer of yours from your mangled corpse. Probably get a good bit of gold for that, eh?" The smuggler received a punch in the shoulder from Thorin in response, the older man wearing a broad grin under his cowl as the three continued their assent.

"Either of you get anything from Ivan or Trost?"

"Nope. Comms are open though so they know where we are." Jayce swore under his breath, a mass of red blips advancing towards the center of the holographic map on his HUD, the defender deftly switching from hammer to cannon.

"Lock and load. We have company."

* * *

><p>Caitlyn watched the blonde woman fiddle with her armor for a moment before turning her attention back to the swarm of shocktroopers. Behind the sniper Ivan stood up, his monstrous weapon held at the ready. "How many are there?"<p>

"A lot more than we can kill…" The big man looked away, eyebrows knitting as if trying to decide what to do. A pained shuffling broke the silence.

"My med unit finally kicked in. Let's get the hell out of here." Ivan shook his head but didn't bother trying to argue, instead offering Trost his arm which she took with evident relief.

* * *

><p>8-1-12 watched the fleshlings scurry towards the hotel that marked the largest standing structure in the western quadrant of Piltover. Two females with one male. If not for the power armor adorning two of them the machine might have mistaken the fleshlings for a 'family'. It had always marveled at fleshling loyalties to such frivolous things. A last glance gave the machine a new reason to slay this particular group of fleshlings. Although its data banks were a bit foggy but there was no mistaking that rifle. Soon 8-1-12 would pay that bitch back for putting it out of commission for so long. Drawing its collapsible blades the machine slid from its hiding spot, blazing red eyes fixated on the towering structure the fleshlings had recently scampered into.<p>

* * *

><p>To the smuggler standing on top of a building as swarms of iron crab-man-things rushed their position was anathema in the extreme. His whole life, from his first memories as an urchin in Bilgwater to smuggling various less than scrupulous items across Valoran, he had been running. To dig in like this just seemed so…pointless. They would gain nothing from expending their last few rounds and as he had overhead another soldier say it was highly likely that there simply was no extraction team. The appearance of a destroyer only made things worse. Its first shot vaporized the elevator's steam vent along with one of the six men remaining on the rooftop. Soon only four remained as the destroyer unleashed a second blast followed by a third which barely missed Thorin, the mage cursing wildly before plunging his axes into the ground, lightning arcing along the steel before erupting under the first shocktrooper in the advancing wall of iron. Metal rained down on Walt's helmet as the mage's attack devastated their enemies. Of course as soon as he peaked over his cover to look at the damage more machines had filled the places of the fallen, their previous inexorable march becoming a frenzied skitter as each machine attempted to avenge their fallen brethren. A nameless man, Walt had never really bothered to learn much about his compatriots, erupted in a magnificent crimson shower as a rocket hit his battered armor in the chestplate, the blast soon echoed by a projectile of far more significant power soaring down from the perpetual ash cloud that hung over Piltover's carcass like a distraught mourner. The missile was soon followed by the gleaming bulk of a gunship, the valiant machine spitting autocannon fire into the now retreating ranks of the battlecast, its engines rotating to hold the silver machine in a hover above the roof as cables attached to the yordles of the Megling Commandos descended. At first it seemed as if the battle cast would rally and crush the intruders, the destroyer raising its crimson palm to the gunship. The soldiers behind the destroyer had other plans, the crack of a high-caliber sniper rifle signifying the end of its existence, the veteran destroyer collapsing in on itself before erupting in a shower of sparks and metal shards. Suddenly leaderless the shocktroopers momentarily froze, the highly trained yordle soldiers taking the brief pause to rip them apart in a rapid burst of shells from their odd weapons. For the first time since getting in the transport outside Bandle City Jayce grinned, Corki's familiar voice crackling over the squad's comms. "Thought you guys could use a bit of help. Climb aboard, ya'll are getting something a bit cushier to do." Jayce magclipped his hammer to his back, grin becoming a broad smile as he saw Caitlyn standing between Trost and Ivan.<p>

"Don't have to tell me twice." He removed his helmet, Caitlyn returning his smile as their gazes met. "Need a lift?"

"Nice to see you too, Jayce." The sound of heavy metal steps and screaming suddenly averted their attention, a mangled yordle flying over the vent units that obscured a good quarter of the roof from the gunship's cannons. Jayce suddenly grabbed Caitlyn, the winches aboard the dropship rapidly hauling them to safety. The yordle crew attempting to move the captured centurion close enough for the cables to pull it up wasn't so lucky. The first one fell back, his fur stained red as a railgun receded from the centurion's back, the machine flourishing its blades before launching itself at the remaining Megling Commandos, those yordles that remained on the gunship rotating its heavy machineguns wildly in an attempt to get a clear shot at the machine. Corki's voice crackled over the comms again; panic furthering its normal distortion.

"We can't stay any longer! Get those cables up were pulling out!" The gunship turned, winches hauling the remaining members of the strike team along with a few Commandos into the shining hull before the afterburners fired, the silver machine disappearing in the ash as the last yordle's blood stained the centurion's blade.

* * *

><p>8-1-12 watched the gunship fly into the ash with a vague sense of disappointment. It flicked its blade free of blood and sheathed them, taking note of the fragments of 13-37 as well as the few hundred destroyed shoocktroopers as it fired a few rail gun rounds into the prone form of centurion 51-21-25 out of sheer dislike for the fleshling-esq machine. A slight pleasure at watching its systems fail played about in 8-1-12's mind. More prominent however, was how to explain this situation to the Creator without being disassembled for failure. The simple fact that such a thing could happen, even if the enemy suffered such high casualties was almost unthinkable. Thus its walk back to its base in the center of Piltover was fraught with defensive planning and analysis of the power armor worn by the invaders. By the time it kneeled before the hologram of the creator a hundred ways to kill a fleshling in such armor cycled in its head. "Creator, the invaders have escaped." Viktor nodded thoughtfully.<p>

"What did you say they looked like again?" If the centurion found this an odd question it never displayed such thoughts.

"Fleshlings in silver, blue and gold hextech armor. The leader wielded a hammer."

"And they had yordle allies?"

"Affirmative. Megling Commandos dispatched from Bandle City."

"Report to Zaun at once…next time Jayce will not escape us."

"Affirmative."


	5. The Hunter

8-1-12 strode between the rows of shocktroopers lining the helipad jutting from the upper floors of the massive government building that served as its base of operations, the jet black ceremonial cape attached to its shoulder pads catching the slight breeze. At the end of the platform a dropship sat perched, a guard of two lower level centurions, their helmets void of crests, carrying plasma rifles standing just inside the bay of the iron aircraft. 8-1-12 ignored them instead addressing the dropship. [ETA?]

[2 hours at top speed]

[Acceptable. Proceed with designated task] the machine sent a short quip of data about the projected turbulence and other menial information as its cargo of centurions sat in the seats along the sides of the dark cargo bay, crimson lights supplementing the dust obscured sun of Piltover as the rear door closed. The vox grill at the end of the bay rattled off flight information before the machine lurched forward, 8-1-12 immediately compensating for the movement, its guards doing the same as the centurion shut down its optics.

* * *

><p>Trost slipped her side arm form her hip, removing and replacing the sixteen bullets for the hundredth time since they had been pulled from Piltover. Her side had stitched itself together, the healing potions injected by her suit doing its job. Ivan was asleep, his machine gun resting across his lap. Thorin had busied himself with a scroll of lightning magic. A few seats away Walt was busy sharpening his knife, the grating sound eating away at Caitlyn's sanity over the past half hour. Occasionally Jayce would smile slightly, his eyes never quite returning to their old gleam despite the gesture. "We fucked up bad, huh?" The entire cargo bay turned to Walt, the armored smuggler sheathing his knife and continuing. "21 of the best trained and equipped soldiers in Valoran go into Piltover to kill one man. Five come back. And that's only after a team of twelve Megling Commandos pull our asses from a roof suffering 75% casualties. We thought we could fight them…we were fucking ants beneath their boot. This war is over… we lost." Trost placed a worried hand on his shoulder as Jayce's comms crackled to life.<p>

"Cap, we got a problem." Jayce walked towards the cockpit, the metal door that protected the pilot from any shrapnel that might get in the gunship's bay sliding open just long enough for the rest of the soldiers to watch Jayce sit down in the gunner's seat.

"What's wrong?" Corki simply pointed to his HUD, the three crimson dots telling the story well enough. "Shit…think you can shake them?" The pilot checked the HUD the angry red blips speeding up as attack orders were finalized, his gaze switching to the cloudless sky.

"Can't outrun 'em but we sure can give 'em a nice hello."

"Do it. We can't risk them finding out where we're going." A grin played at the long whiskers that framed Corki's mouth as he flicked the fire control off safety.

[All units auto cannon fire. Prioritize engines.] The two Valkyries at the wing leader's sides pulled off slightly the wing leader's wings splitting slightly as auto cannon barrels peeked from the gaps. The machine to the wing leader's left suddenly erupted into flames, the sponson mounted turrets of the silver target unleashing a stream of red hot lead at the Valkyrie, the wing leader diving as the third machine took a shot to its left engine, its crippled form becoming smaller and smaller before saluting its commander with a plume of flame and smoke. The sleek Valkyrie ignited its after burners, its thrust vectoring systems pulling it into a rapid climb, missiles dropping from the fuselage as targeting systems built into the glowing crimson eyes and maw locked on to the target's wings. [Now you die.] It never launched a single missile, the small dome on the bottom of the fuselage of the gunship flashing blue before the Valkyrie halted its assent, engines sputtering as the machine tipped backwards. Its red eyes flickered as the magic drained from it, the blue dome pulsating as the iron fighter met the earth in a spectacular plume of vibrant orange.

* * *

><p>The other machines and acolytes parted as the centurion strode across the sunless outdoor landing complex attached like a great leech to the side of the towering structure whose peak pierced the ever present layer of smog that had clouded the skies of Zaun since time immemorial. Not that it bothered the machine. It was the populace of Zaun that had 8-1-12's iron hands constantly on its blades. Allies of the evolution or not some of these damned fleshlings would have to die soon. Perhaps it would have some sport with them, so long as the creator approved. After all what good was a fleshling when a machine could do its job a hundred times better? That and machines did not piss their superiors off with incessant blabber about trivial matters. Automated doors large enough to fit a house parted for the centurion as it ordered the guards to remain outside. A quick scan of the building's registered schematics occupied the machine as it crossed the threshold of the tower, its crimson eyes scanning the massive hall lit with hextech lights of the same color and decorated with dark iron pillars between which hung crimson banners bearing the emblem of the armies of the Creator. The centurion noted the architect's fascination with red as it scanned the carpet it trod on, the fabric being a slightly lighter shade than the banners and lights. All the buildings in Zaun were like this now. Clearly this had to be the singular reddest city in Valoran. The machine was unsure if it cared much about that though and thus continued its trek across the four block long hall to the elevators that would bring it to the peak of the massive building. The pinnacle of which sat thirty odd stories above the smog layer and, as the now deceased obnoxious fleshling had stated, possessed a 'nice view'. 8-1-12 stepped into the industrial elevator made to haul small trucks to the other levels of the building, the machine standing in the direct center of the square floor as it was lifted further into the sky.<p>

* * *

><p>51-21-25 examined her new frame with disinterest. As far as she was concerned what she looked like mattered very little so long as her mistress still approved. The acolyte danced around her chortling to himself about something 51-21-25 didn't much care to hear. Before shutting off her audio receptors the machine had picked up something about coitus and a fleshling named Abagail, the machine shuddering slightly as memories were dredged up from places 51-21-25 would rather never have gone again. As the acolyte left her to her musings a small white rose popped up in her view, the machine groaning inwardly before accepting the encrypted call. [Elle, it's been a while]<p>

[My apologies, Mistress Rose] The yordle giggled at the title.

[Tell me you have something good]

[If good is an almost indestructible self-repairing centurion with the conscious of Jack the Ripper then I do]

[Shoot…try to stay in touch. Hiemer is going to have a fit when he hears this…]

[Yes, Mistress.]

* * *

><p>The techmaturge watched the Creator for any signs of approval. Of course the iron mask gave few signs of anything except the hissing that indicated Viktor's continued survival. The small box the two men occupied had been made of blast resistant glass for protection against the experiments that took place in the lower levels of the massive tower. Below them a soldier, his body encased within the silver, blue, and gold armor of the invaders at Piltover squirmed against his restraints. "Release the seed units." The techmaturge nodded, the man pressing a small button on the panel in front of them, Viktor crossing his arms as a small burst of pulsating red spores dropped from the ceiling. Those that fell on the power armor clad man immediately drilled into the armor, the man seeming to slump with relief as they stopped just short of flesh. Viktor turned to leave when the room flashed a deep crimson, screams of pain turning to an odd mechanical gurgling as the noble power armor morphed into an iron monstrosity, the Creator turning with renewed interest as the helmet contorted in a mechanical maw, hateful crimson eyes burning through what had once been a visor as the rest of the armor reconfigured to the seed's specifications. Within a few seconds the hideous transformation was complete, the odd machine sporting razor sharp claws on elongated fingers, the armor had warped into a darker metal, the same material used in the creation of a battlecast unit, which had twisted itself into shapes almost reminiscent of a plant. The shoulder pad looked more like a human deltoid laced with the same bladed plant motif that adorned the rest of the armor than any real protection. Its legs were elongated and thinned, canine in appearance and tipped with flexible claws each the length of the cyborg's hand. Between the cracks in is armored frame crimson light spilled forth, the trait common to factory made battlecasts manifesting itself to perfection. Viktor nodded, left hand raised to what would be mouth level. "And what of the man?"<p>

"Disintegrated. This is where the…interesting stuff we discussed in our report starts happening." The machine looked at the restraints holding in to the floor in a standing position. For a moment it simply stood, arms relaxed, head cocked. After Viktor once again made to leave it dropped into a battle stance, arms seeming to liquefy and reform as massive blades replaced its forearms before the machine tore the restraints from the floor, iron maw opening as it howled rage at the ceiling. "Shall I end the test?"

"I've seen enough." A panel in the wall opened up to reveal a destroyer, plasma lance charged. The seed born machine roared, tendrils flying off its back to latch onto the frail destroyer before pulling the floating machine into reach of the massive blades that had replaced its forearms. As the destroyer flicked out of existence Viktor moved to the door, the air lock popping open as he twisted the knob. The techmaturge look horrified, the man reaching out only to be shoved back by a glare from Viktor, the deadly beam weapon resting on his shoulder swiveling with his gaze. "Perhaps I can end this test."

A red haze filled its vision; the odd mechanical gurgling that seemed to coincide with its operation enraging it beyond that which stemmed from its sudden existence. Something clanged against metal behind it, the machine whirling around to see a man in a thick trench coat wearing an iron mask stepping down the stairs which led to a glass box above it. The red haze became thicker, the monster leaping at its new prey as it deployed an odd device.

Viktor watched the machine struggle against the gravity field for a few seconds before the sleek laser mounted in place of his third hand cleaved it in two. _Now Bandle City will burn…_

* * *

><p>Tristana watched the gunship's engines wind down as landing gear protruded from the hull. The balcony she stood on had afforded her a good enough view of the exiting soldiers to know the hell the soldiers had been through. Beside her Teemo shook his head. "Trist I…I need to talk to you."<p>

"Go ahead Tee." Behind her the scout shuffled a bit Tristana realizing the topic immediately. "Tee I already told you, I'm not supporting your suicide mission." The yordle looked shocked, the papers he had pulled from his satchel dropping to the floor.

"That's not what I was going to say! Although since you bring it up…"

"No. Can we please talk about something that doesn't involve one of us sneaking into Zaun and assassinating Viktor?" Teemo smiled, handing the Megling commander the papers he had been holding.

"How about that general arms meeting you skipped? Rumble reported that the city's mechanized division is fully operational and we have received the Ionian warmachine although the engineering corps is still reconfiguring it for a yordle pilot. Also the president called another meeting of the armed forces."

"When?" Her flippant tone made the scout general think about not telling the former champion the last part.

"Today. Oh, and Jayce brought someone back. A…mutual friend of ours." Tristana whirled around, her eyes lit with joy as Teemo nodded yes to the unspoken question.

* * *

><p>The machine watched the small house in the middle of the woods surrounding what used to be Noxus from its perch atop an out cropping. As soon as the sun had set it moved through the underbrush, silent as a specter, its crimson visor emitting a slight pulse as hexagonal tiles along its humanoid frame bent the light of the moon around it, the iron killer fading into the stillness of the forest.<p>

Talon watched the redhead sleep with a satisfied smile, the grating of his blade against a whet stone halting just in time to hear a scraping on top of the roof. Gritting his teeth to hold back any obscenities that may spill out the assassin stepped outside, a slight breeze ruffling his cloak as the door shut behind him. "Shit, of all the fucking times to start hearing things…" he shook his head. Lack of sleep was definitely getting to him.

"Talon Du Couteau? My, my, the little ranger bitch spoke highly of you." The odd metallic voice was soon accompanied by a series of clicks and a slight thump as the monstrous centurion landed between Talon and the door to the cottage. "Your whore sister didn't put up much of a fight, although she also spoke highly of both you and the wench inside." As the machine stepped into a shaft of moonlight Talon was able to discern an odd array of trophies hanging from its armor including a bright green scale set just above its crimson visor. Noticing Talons interest in the scale the machine pivoted slightly gesturing to two royal blue feathers attached to a leather band around its right arm. Valor's feathers. "What's wrong gutter rat? Did I hurt you famiwee?" The baby voice really drove Talon insane the grating laughter that followed only serving to amplify the assassin's rage.

"Shut the fuck up and die!" The machine instantly countered his rush with twin blades sprouting from its wrists. Blades sparked as the hooded man was shortly overpowered by the machine, its odd hidden weapons retracting as its hands returned to a passive position.

"I like your aggression fleshling. It's really no fun if all they do is run away." Talon let his knives do the talking, the Noxian losing a volley of throwing knives to rake at the machine who deflected each one with deft precision. "Perhaps I shall let you watch your sister die…you already missed both the ranger and the whore." A series of clicks followed as the two killers circled each other, Talon outclassed in both size and strength, the machine being almost six inches taller than he was as well as at least twice as heavy. As for strength he quite simply could not lift a car over his head and toss it like he had seen other machines of the centurion class do. Thus his only chance was agility. If only it would give him an opening the Noxian was confident he could take it out. Until it literally vanished into thin air. Before he could act on the machine's disappearance he grunted, surprise mixing with pain as the iron palm rammed into his back, the seven and a half inch retractable blade below it protruding slightly from his chest. "Tsk, tsk, little birdy. Hear I thought I might finally have a kill worthy of the proclamations of coming vengeance spewed by your dying loved ones…" He felt the hood of his cloak being ripped from his head as a mechanism opened up within the machine behind him, its blade retracting to allow Talon to slump to the ground. "When you wash up on the shores of the Shadow Isles tell them Venator sent you."

The machine fashioned the cloak hood to its left shoulder, the torn end pointed at the ground so as to give better purchase for the odd clamps on the bottoms of its shoulders. It quite liked the way the purple cloth settled to just below its elbow joint, the machine taking a second to admire itself before the cottage door came crashing down, an irate fleshling standing in its opening, twin curved blades drawn. A short burst of clicks followed the redheaded sister of its latest kill's appearance. If it could have smiled the broadest grin Valoran had ever seen would have crossed its face as Katarina collapsed to her knees, horror plain on her face as the machine stepped aside to allow her a better view of her last family member. A sigil Venator hated almost as much as an easy target blinked into existence in its vision, retreat: effective immediately. Clicking off its rage the machine turned north, its iron frame melting into the darkness leaving Katarina to her sobbing.


	6. Ultra

Viktor watched the machine kneel before him, its iron frame decorated with various bits of clothing or valuables from champions he had once known. A list of its kills could easily be mistaken for a roster of great leaders and warriors, the most recent addition having given up his hood to satisfy the machine's oddities. To date Venator had slain ten former champions as well as countless high priority targets in almost as many battles. In other words if the Glorious Evolution needed someone or something dead, Venator made it dead. It had begun its illustrious career with a quick termination mission after some local wild life began to hunt and kill battlecast. The centurion had set out with only a dagger and its blades, returning to Viktor with the head of Rengar as well as the pride stalker's prized knife. It wasn't hard for the creator to see the potential such a machine could have, especially after watching the mission footage stored in what was then known as centurion 2-6-40. The machine was immediately rebuilt with a frame better suited to its newfound purpose, the bulky armor replaced with advanced cloaking technologies and myriad blades. Soon came the sacking of Noxus, centurion 2-6-40 claiming the lives of Swain, Vladimir, Cassiopeia, and Le Blanc. When Demacia proved more stubborn than its ancient foe the machine terminated the king in broad daylight, showing off an ingenious weapon of its own design. The miniature wrist mounted crossbow would serve the Evolution twice more before the day was out with centurion 2-6-40 taking its assignment beyond simply slaying the king to ruthlessly slaughter the entire royal family as well, the prince's illegitimate quarter-dragon twins included. Without the Lightshield dynasty's leadership Demacia quickly fell to ruin centurion 2-6-40 earing its new name by hunting down and slaying the famed ranger Quinn. Now it had added Talon Du Couteau to its kill count. Not that that had been its mission. Frankly Viktor found himself more enraged by this single machine's zeal than any sort of rebellion. "Do you have what I sent you to Noxus for?"

"Why must you doubt me, Great Creator?" Its arrogance perturbed him as well. Still kneeling Venator produced a small rune stone. To the untrained eye it would appear as any other rune stone, but to Viktor it was so much more. Years ago there had been a dispute in Kalamanda over mining rights. At least that was the cover up story. In truth the entire incident had been staged by the Institute of War in order to get their hands on this one stone. While most people were familiar with tiers and quintessences only a select few heard tale of, let alone believed in, a stone as powerful as this. The gem was utterly flawless and even within its limiting case Viktor could feel the magical energy radiating from it. "Have you determined the subject?" By this time Viktor had already descended from his lofty throne, hands clasped around the stone as Venator stood up.

"You…are dismissed…" The machine hid its distaste for Viktor's words behind a series of hunting clicks.

"Affirmative." Once the machine had left the Creator allowed the last of his human emotion to eke out of the metal cell he had long ago imprisoned it in, a malevolent iron laugh echoing through the throne room.

* * *

><p>"Look Cait, they're going to ask you a lot of questions. Just answer them as best you can." The sheriff nodded, Jayce nodding back before a yordle in a long black coat ushered her into a small room. The yordle exhaled, hauling himself into a leather seat that matched his coat a bit too well to be coincidence. He then cracked his knuckles and picked up the file that had been resting on the chrome table that served as the only piece of furniture aside from the two chairs. He flipped through the files before noticing that the chair opposite him was empty.<p>

"Please, have a seat. Considering what you've been through this may take a bit…Would you like a drink?"

"Water please." The yordle gestured to the mirrored wall of the otherwise dark grey room, another yordle soon bringing two glasses of water out and setting them on the table.

"Now it says here you survived in the ruins of Piltover for almost a month. Is this correct?"

"Yes." The yordle wrote a few things down, his pen scratching uncomfortably against the paper.

"Durring your time in Piltover did you see any…unusual battlecast units?" The way the yordle said the question made Caitlyn a bit more than uncomfortable. "As in command units with odd abilities." Seeing that the sheriff wasn't going to answer anytime soon the yordle pulled a picture of a centurion, its head mangled by a pointblank shot, out of the file that had been sitting on the table and slid it to her. "This was taken by the chest mounted mission camera of Second Lieutenant Ivan Aryonkhart." He slid her another picture of a fully operational centurion, surrounded by yordle corpses, sheathing its swords. "This is about an hour later from the gunship that pulled you from Piltover. It's the same machine. Yesterday our spy in Zaun sent us this message." He placed a small recording device on the table, pressing the play button before tenting his fingers. "Keep in mind this is only a clip so as to keep our spy's identity safe." After a few seconds a soft feminine voice filled the room.

"Experimental machine designated Project 9000 is slated to lead a battlecast detachment within the month excluding delays caused by recent events in Shurima. Other units slated for this mission include centurion 2-6-40 and kill team comprising of centurions 4-43-1, 13-00-9, 11-88-6, 12-23-34, and 50-56-79."

"That machine you saw in Piltover is believed to be the unit designated Project 9000." The yordle passed her a few sheets of paper and a hextech pen. "Fill this out with any odd tendencies or abilities you saw that centurion exhibit." As Caitlyn took the paper the yordle took a deep breath his expression lightening as he handed her a small envelope pulled from his pocket. "Also Captain Jayce has requested that you join his unit, that is, if it's ok with you. Either way you're going to be in the military. We can't risk word of an immortal super centurion causing a panic." Caitlyn returned the smile accepting the small package before leaving the cramped room. The yordle soon followed pointing down in the opposite direction of the landing pad where Corki was still toiling on the gunship. "City's that way miss."

* * *

><p>The doctor just shook his head as Emily Trost denied, for the third time, a hextech eye. Her excuse never changed. "I don't want anything that they're made of in me." The medical staff had given up arguing after the first time. No matter that the mechanical implants would allow her to process optical information at almost twice the speed of an un-augmented human brain, the ungrateful bitch could go die in a hole for all the doctor seemed to care. Without the heavy armor and gore stained blades she looked almost like any other citizen…Not that he cared. Cause he didn't. At least that's what he told himself. The man marked down the last strike team member's injuries on a small tablet just as the swordswoman left leaving the doctor slightly confused and with an extra bottle of painkillers.<p>

* * *

><p>Bandle City had exploded in the short lived years of peace after the league closed its doors. Once home exclusively to yordles the city had become a haven for anyone looking for a safe place away from the political turmoil of the rest of Valoran. Massive skyscrapers, not nearly as tall as those of Piltover or Zaun yet still dominating the horizon for miles, towered over her head as Caitlyn walked along the old cobble streets that had once transported wagons and other creaking wooden contraptions. Now though the sniper was forced to make way for a light tank as the machine trundled along to some unknown destination. Finding the night air a bit cold despite the southern climate she quickly ducked into a bar, the neon lights identifying it as the Last Oak Pub and Inn. The usual somber war time patronage, simply there to drink their troubles away, had been replaced by a boisterous atmosphere, each man competing for something Caitlyn couldn't see. Those uninterested in whatever had majority of the men at each other's throats were seated at the bar Caitlyn taking a stool as far from the commotion as possible. "What'll it be?" At first she thought she was hearing things. The bartender, a tattooed man with sculpted arms and overly large hair turned, the glass he had been shining now resting on a rack as the former champion gave Caitlyn his famous grin. "Why, fancy seeing you here babe. What can Draven get you tonight?"<p>

"There is no bloody way…" Draven's grin only widened, the executioner pulling a glass off the rack and idly shining it.

"Oh I survived. Draven always survives. Took a tin can out too." He gestured to the head of a centurion, the left side split by a throwing axe, mounted above the door. "Had to cut its head off before it stopped coming after me… So anything you want? I am the proprietor of this business. Last guy sold it to me for a real steal when he moved to Ionia."

"I'll take a scotch. What's going on over there?" The executioner turned bartender placed her drink down before turning to the crowd of men.

"That…that is something you don't want to go near sister. That is the killing fields. Thing is though that little corner brings in more customers than anything else…" Caitlyn shot him an impatient look, the Noxian holding up his hands defensively before continuing. "Ahri's doing her part in the war. Sorta. She's got half the men in the army thinking they're fighting for her. Frankly I'm not going anywhere near that." Caitlyn stood up in her stool, peering over the backs of a few men to watch Ahri for a moment.

"Good choice." Draven inclined his head slightly before returning to polishing the myriad glasses behind him. After a few more drinks as well as some surprisingly good food, thinking back on it the alcohol had probably made it taste a lot better than it really was, the sheriff let her mind wander, her legs depositing her in a booth as the world went black around her.

* * *

><p>"Morning cupcake." A smile found its way across the sheriff's face, her chocolate hair streaming across the pillows of her bed in Piltover. An eye finally found the will to open, Vi kissing her before walking to the dresser and pulling on her uniform. To the left a single glass pane looked out on all of Piltover, the golden sun illuminating the tops of the buildings as it rose. Caitlyn took a second to admire her partner's rear before leaving the warm folds of the blanket for the shower. "I put out your uniform for ya. Breakfast'll be done when you get out." The shower still smelled of soap, its floor wet as the sheriff turned the knobs to her perfect temperature. Caitlyn sighed as warm water washed over her. A sudden crash interrupted her relaxation, the sheriff rushing from the shower only to slam uselessly against the wood door, her wet hands slipping on the door knob for a few horror stricken seconds before finding purchase. In the living room, its iron hand clenched around a struggling enforcer's throat stood a centurion, its head mangled on one side as though shot by a large caliber rifle. Vi suddenly stopped squirming, the machine turning towards her as it tossed the limp corpse across the eroding room. By the time the enforcer's body hit the ground, ethereal fire eating away all but the skeleton, Caitlyn was standing in a field of bones, the machine walking inexorably towards her as a crimson sun dominated the sky. She collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as it drew its sword, each step crushing the bones that littered the ground. Human bones. The crushed bones mingled with the bloody dust of the ground as Caitlyn continued to sob, her tears turning to blood as they hit the ground. The unfeeling killer leered over her, its iron frame reverberating with a mechanical groan as it drew back its sword arm. Her life didn't flash in front of her eyes. No light beamed down from the heavens. No savior arrived in the nick of time. Only the crimson gaze of pure, undying hatred projected from the machine's hollow eyes sought out her prone form, the blade rushing forward to pierce her throat as she uttered one last choked scream.<p>

* * *

><p>Sun light filtered through a blind to her left, the small bed she was on smelling of alcohol and vomit, the former scent seeming to only produce more of the latter. Groaning she hauled herself to her feet, pain erupting across her body as she collapsed back into the bed. "Morning sunshine." The executioner tossed her a towel. "Shower's over there. I'd help you but I got a job to do." She shot him a look of pure hatred, her drunken stupor reducing it to more of a half conscious stare. "Hehe it was just a joke. I'll be down stairs if you need anything." As the executioner turned the entire building shook, Caitlyn first attributing the tremor to her hangover before the light from the window was blotted out, metal clanking as steam hissed in the streets. Draven voiced both their thoughts fairly effectively. "What the fu-" An iron groan sent Caitlyn sprawling for cover as Draven tore open the blinds. What met their gaze was both terrifying and awe inspiring. A single slab of rune encrusted metal dominated their view, the titanic ankle guard shifting before a steel foot large enough to crush a house left the ground for a brief moment, its return to earth shaking the buildings as the gleaming steel titan strode onward, the cobbled street barely fitting its skyscraper sized frame. A heroic azure visor stared into the vast sky above the tallest buildings in the older section of the city as the pilot deftly maneuvered the Ionian made warmachine through the maze of skyscrapers. She stumbled towards the door, Draven offering her much needed support as the two watched the machine's progress through the city from the street.<p>

"The bloody hell did…did that thing show up?" Behind it tanks and APCs formed column after column of shining metal, the warmachine bellowing as it left the tight corridors of the old city for the relatively open freedom of the newer sections.

"About the same time Ionia decided it was sick of the old folks running the place. Apparently that's a medium warmachine. Or so I've heard. Ionia a super power…never thought I'd see the day… You should get back home. Everything'll be opening soon…and that includes me. Anybody be willing to come get you?"

* * *

><p>8-1-12 was not a machine to be kept waiting. After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting around, almost decapitating multiple acolytes, and generally becoming more enraged with the universe on whole a timid acolyte ushered the mighty centurion into an elevator. Of all the lower machines elevators held a special place in the machine's data banks. Not only did they serve the evolution without any sort of gripe but they served to the utmost perfection of their task. One had to admire their efficiency in whisking their cargo up and down the massive tower. Within a minute from the time the centurion boarded the noble device it was at its destination, 8-1-12 nodding thanks to the servant of the evolution before moving onward towards the testing lab designated in its briefing.<p>

* * *

><p>Viktor watched the table holding the machine rotate to allow myriad arms to deconstruct its body, new armor, stronger, faster, better in every conceivable way, replacing the machine's shell as its crimson interior expanded to fill the new nine foot armored frame. The table rotated, its occupant released from the restraints that had held it in place. Viktor smiled as it examined its new form, no longer was 8-1-12 merely a centurion. The 9k project had been a success. From the start of the evolution the 9k project had been a little more than a dream. At first it was a problem of cognition. Shocktroopers and destroyers simply didn't have the mental capabilities required to properly harness the amount of power flowing through the newly reconstructed centurion ultra. Once the centurions were introduced at the sacking of Noxus it became a matter of potential return value. During the construction of a centurion arcane rights, beyond even the expertise of Viktor's best techmaturges, were employed resulting in odd powers generated seemingly at random. Despite the immense power of an ultra, enough enemy troops with good luck would be able to take it out. Thus when a generation three centurion manifested an ability that could counteract the fickle fortunes of battle Viktor acted immediately. The weapon the Creator had chosen for his prodigal son was already resting in the massive halls of his vault. Recently Venator had secured the most powerful runestone unearthed in Kalamanda as well as the slumbering form of the Darkin Aatrox, who upon his awakening this morning had proved invaluable in his decision to train the prodigal champion of the evolution. Yes, everything was falling into place…<p> 


	7. Darkin

**A/N: Aatrox can tap into the centurion's communication systems because they are semi-magical. And he's a god. And plot devices. Forget the last one.**

Even the void born could feel the miasma of wrongness surrounding the machine. Both of them clicked. Both of them used blades. Both of them were dead set on killing the other. That was where the similarities ended. Kha' Zix flexed his mantis like arms, the chitin blades crackling with void energy. No doubt the machine was an excellent killer. Trophies hung from its iron frame, Kha' recognizing the bone necklace hanging from its belt as the void born was reminded of why it was targeting this machine in particular. He never expected to see a battlecast run to Ionia of all places though. No matter. Soon it would be a dead battlecast. A dead Rengar killing battlecast. Kha' grit his fangs. No one took his kills. Even in the endless abyss of the void his hive had been the most renowned of the Xer' Zix. Assassins of such skill that even the mighty Xer' Gath lords would cower at their mere mention. No machine, no matter its prestige within its ranks, could top his mastery of death. Nor could it match his vast arsenal of skills. The two killers circled each other once more, Kha' Zix suddenly tearing open reality as he slipped back into his native environment. Smug confidence was soon replaced by confusion as the machine also vanished, its void reflection non-existent. Realizing his error Kha' forced his way back into reality, a small burst of deadly void energy announcing his arrival. Of course a machine would have no reflection in the void. It wasn't alive. Confusion once again reigned as the machine was nowhere to be found. Even in this plane the machine was invisible. Kha' sent out a few hunting clicks, the machine echoing his move from the shadows, the air distorting as it stepped back into vision. Of course, like his previous target it could cloak itself. At least Rengar Kha' Zix could track through the void. Perhaps this would be more challenging than the Xer' Zix had thought. His newly molted crimson shell glistened in the moonlight as spike racks fired a deadly cone of half foot projectiles at Zix's foe, the machine nimbly evading the murderous bio-weaponry as it dashed into range of the Xer' Zix's claws. Jagged heliotrope blades flashed in the sudden darkness produced by an intrusive cloud as cold steel met their neon arcs, the combatants dashing back before clashing again, crimson light spilling forth as the cloud passed. The machine shook slightly, Kha' allowing himself some minor satisfaction before realizing the true nature of the duel's outcome. Acid blood ate into the dirt as the void born collapsed, the crimson light of the machine's visor approaching until a blade severed a chunk from the Xer' Zix's back armor, the machine chirping contentedly to itself before leaving Kha' to his fate.

* * *

><p>"Despite your arguments Ionia is not ready for another war. Give us a full month of peace and we will support you in full." The yordle was clearly frustrated, the odd array of lenses on the goggles she had pushed up to hold back messy hair flashing in the dim light projected by the massive hologram of Karma, Ionian's empress continuing to assure Rose of the coming support from the island nation. In two months. If what Elle's last report had said was true Bandle City would be ashes within three weeks. Rose kept quite though. Diplomacy was not the spy master's favorite pastime.<p>

"Either way thanks for your valuable time oh great and wise empress." Karma frowned slightly before the holocaster went dark, the room soon illuminated by hextech lights as the yordle hauled herself into a stool placed in front of myriad monitors. As whatever was connected to each screen hummed to life streams of data as well as an odd 16-bit game absorbed her so completely as to not notice the short yordle standing in the door.

"That was one way to handle rejection." Rose flicked her hand, the other occupied with her keyboard as lines of code scrolled lazily down screen. Rumble just sighed. "Pres just called an emergency meeting."

"Im almost done. Just give me…a…bit more… Shit!" A picture of a lock flashed repeatedly on the largest screen, Rose reluctantly leaving behind her personal attempt at crippling Viktor to follow her shorter colleague.

* * *

><p>It was nice to have a routine again. Even if that routine was waking up at four in the morning to take a five mile run followed by backbreaking exercise until breakfast at six. Caitlyn hoisted the rifle onto her shoulder, the dull silver training armor taking most of the weight as a drill sergeant wearing power armor stalked past the assembled recruits. Frankly she was lucky. Not only was she the only member of her unit to be guaranteed a spot in a team but the drill sergeant had yet to bellow in her face as the man so often did to the other recruits. Today. "Alright Maggots! Today we're gonna see how many of you dumb bitches can shoot a rifle! See those targets down lane? First of you to hit a bulls eye doesn't do extra pushups." No one wasted time unloading in the direction the sergeant had indicated. Only Caitlyn kept still. The heavy metal training armor weighed her down as she pressed a knee into the mud, rifle rising to her shoulder as years of precision shooting guided her hands. She only did a hundred pushups.<p>

* * *

><p>Any human wandering into the massive cave in central Ionia would have noticed three things. First would be the smell. The entire cavern reeked of decay and death, its current occupant lacking olfactory organs and thus unable to detect the rancid odor its current home emitted. After anyone who could withstand the initial stench spent a few moments within the cloying darkness the constant crunching sounds from beneath their feet would be explained as their eyes became accustomed to the lack of light. Bones littered the floor, most picked clean but a few still sporting chunks of week-old flesh in tighter nooks and crannies. Neither bothered the wounded Xer' Zix. In truth very few things had every frightened Kha' to the degree the glowing green slights at the back of the cave did. He assumed his customary squatting stance, eyes squeezing shut as the monster who's cave the Xer' Zix had entered exhaled. "The machines are stronger than Vel' anticipated."<p>

"I know." Kha skittered back as the massive beast stood to his full height.

"You…Know?" Cho' Gath stomped into a wider corridor, pale moon light illuminating the massive Xer' Gath warrior through a crack in the cave's roof as he stretched limbs that hadn't moved for at least a week. A weak approximation of a laugh exited Cho's ancient throat.

"Vel' underestimated the metal one's drive to create his own destruction. The prophet saw this many years ago." Kha' grunted. It would be just like the arrogant meatbag Malzahar to withhold information from him. "Stay away from this fight assassin. One way or the other it will soon be over."

"And what of your lord? Will we consume this world or have you more "research" to do?" The house sized monstrosity moved with speed Kha' had long considered him incapable of, the smaller void born finding his crimson exoskeleton mashed between a stalagmite and the Xer' Gath's tail.

"I serve no lord, youngling. You would do well to remember that." Kha' considered his options. Not pissing off the giant Xer' Gath was the best by far.

"Whatever. The Zz' Rot portal will not last long without the summoners to keep it shut." Cho' Gath released him, the assassin dusting himself off with a few shakes before drinking from the rancid looking pool in the corner of the cavern. Unfortunately he forgot Xer' Gath don't have any sense of taste either, Kha spitting out the hateful mix of minerals and rotted carcasses. "I will welcome our return to Icathia…"

"Patience, Kha'…"

* * *

><p>8-1-12 never would have thought that navigating the halls of Zuan would be an arduous task. Neither would it have though it would have a new frame so soon. Warning lights flared on its left as 8-1-12 accidentally decked an acolyte with its right arm, the man crying out as two of his allies aided him. It silenced all three with precision railgun fire. The Creator made an odd noise as he observed the dead from over his shoulder, shrugging slightly before returning to his monologue on the functionality such a frame as an Ultra's could provide to the evolution. 8-1-12 stored the audio for later instead focusing on the battle plans recently downloaded into his iron head. Bandle City was no Piltover style push-over. High velocity Gauss weaponry lined an inner wall almost twice as thick and a good thirty feet higher than the one that had protected Piltover. The main wall was precluded by a smaller wall bristling with the same conventional weaponry Piltover had deployed. Before that lay a minefield interspersed with bunkers and tank pits. The entire system was connected by a vast network of tunnels with collapsible sectors to ensure no invading army could utilize them against the defenders. A Shock trooper swarm would eliminate the minefield as well as terrify most of the defenders of the outer wall. After air support and heavy ground units took out the mortars atop the first wall with precision fire seed units would be deployed via bombers and artillery into the space between and on top of the walls. Within the hour Bandle City would burn. 8-1-12 ran the scenario through the combat sim server the results being satisfactory. "Ionia has been working on some very interesting armor variations. I should like to see their reactions to seed infestation…" 8-1-12 quickly ran another situation through the server, his rage venting itself in an unfortunate junior acolyte, the man crumpling as the railgun found its mark. 8-1-12 didn't like losing. By the time Viktor noticed the small trail of corpses the machine had been forced to be somewhat creative in its anger, the shoulder mounted railgun long since out of ammunition. "If you're going to kill all my disciples at least clean them up, centurion." The machine cocked its head, Viktor muttering something about no sense of sarcasm before removing his mask, a flash of red light obscuring his eyes for just long enough to scan the retinas.<p>

* * *

><p>Aatrox watched the massive door slide open with little more interest than if the cold iron room had been suddenly bisected by one of the massive Piltoverian beam weapons he had witnessed during his time as a champion. In all honesty not much ever caused the darkin to react in anything but the least interested manner possible. Viktor soon strode through the door, his hand moving away from his face indicating his mask had recently left his face. Aatrox could feel the pain of each breath within the horribly scarred man suddenly lift as the rebreather in his face plate kicked in. A surge of power rippled through the air as Aatrox watched what approximated to a mechanized darkin sans the wings and sporting a more compact helmet design strode in behind the man known as the Creator. Despite his expression remaining that of utmost boredom the darkin was giddy with the prospect of training such a destructive force. A miasma of pure unadulterated death surrounded the machine Aatrox tapping his ancient powers to see within the machine's mind as it ran thousands of combat sims over and over each with the same infuriating outcome. Reaching out the darkin made a single adjustment.<p>

* * *

><p>Teemo fidgeted uncomfortably between the Captain of the power armor clad Piltover Second Commando division and Tristana, the latter flirting with a certain vertically challenged mechanized general across the table as the spy master, Rose gave an utterly boring doomsday speech. Every time the meeting went the same. The president and Jayce would listen intently while Rumble flirted with Trist, the short yordle getting shot down as much as lead along, while Teemo squirmed uncomfortably. Today they had been joined by Veigar, the master magician gesturing to hang himself as Teemo giggled slightly. "In short without Ionia's immediate intervention we will be fighting a mecha-darkin with a near unlimited army at its back. We must send an envoy to Ionia immediately!" Jayce coughed.<p>

"Or we could talk directly to Zed. As Lord General he holds far more sway with the military than Karma ever will. Zed's not as big a dick as everyone likes to make him out to be if you give him the right incentives. Like more power, or for some odd reason, muffins. I'm not kidding the man would kill his own mother for a muffin." No one laughed, Jayce shrugging as he muttered an apology. Veigar was next to interrupt.

"You said you 'hacked' a machine once, yes? Hack this Ultra and if everything you've said so far is true it will dethrone Viktor for us!" Cries of approval soon filled the meeting, Rose glaring hate at the mage as Veigar stood on his chair.

"That's not how…Ugh! I only got in because Elle was being built when I ran the program. That aside Viktor has closed all security gaps in his machines. We're lucky Elle still works for us and that I can get her rebuilt! Frankly Veigar if you think stopping this thing will be so easy why don't you challenge it to a duel? One of our most accomplished swordswomen almost died in a similar situation when it was just a regular centurion!" The mage muttered about the superiority of magic to blades and guns before slumping to his rear. "In fact I'd like to see one person aside from Jayce in this room who has actually killed a centurion raise their hand. No one? Well look at that! Jayce! You know what these things do first hand. Imagine one with Aatrox's combat skill and ten times increased strength and speed compared to its average brethren. Does that not scare you? We need to send an envoy right now!"

* * *

><p>The large man moved through the crowd with the presence of a phantom, his hat briefly moving away from his eyes as he watched the guards posted around the massive town center. A small child ran playfully around the man as another darted past wearing a shining silver mask. "I'm General Zed and no government dog can stop me!"<p>

"Ho yeah?" countered the other boy. "Well I'm General Chet and my army will surely prevail, you revolutionary scum!"

"Come on then!" Both children were soon embroiled in an imaginary duel, a nearby banana serving as General Chet's infamous secret weapon, the Ghost Blade. General Zed was soon forced into a fruit cart and just as all seemed lost for the shining hero of the revolution another boy, clanking and hissing as his arms stood rigid at his sides, stomped into battle bellowing that he was the great warmachine Strident Fury before General Chet fled the battle, the tatters of his imaginary army in toe as General Zed pursued, Strident Fury leading the charge with loud cries of "BOOM!", presumably symbolizing a lot of anti-revolutionaries dying horribly to the twin halberd beam weapons, represented by rolls of cloth, mounted on the heavy warmachine's arms. The large man didn't much care. He had other, more contemporary, matters to attend to.

* * *

><p>[Kneel.] The darkin had no need to speak to the others; simply projecting his thoughts to the machine would suffice for the first step in training it. The response was immediate.<p>

[Negative. I am a centurion, second to the Creator. Who are you to have me kneel?] Aatrox looked down slightly, the machine suddenly forced into a kneeling position as the darkin extended his armored right fist, the palm pulsating with ancient power as it hovered over the enraged machine's head.

[Know our power.] Warning signs flared red as Aatrox's armored hand flexed open, bloody light spilling forth to engulf 8-1-12.

8-1-12's optics went dark, fluid movements passing across its mind as old combat protocols were ripped apart and rebuilt. New thoughts, not entirely its own yet somehow seeming to stem from its cognators cycled through its head. The first revelation hit it like a small bomb. The Creator was once a fleshling. Soon afterwards it shut down completely, heavy iron frame colliding with the ground as the darkin addressed Viktor. "It is done."

* * *

><p>The large man took a second to scan over the crowd before assuming his perch atop a large, flat roofed, high-rise. Frankly the man found his current assignment despicable but such a place as Ionia warranted the use of less…refined methods of termination. He pulled a duffle bag from his back, the bag shimmering as hexagonal tiles flipped over to reveal an iron case. It was soon popped open by nonchalant hands as the man began to assemble a scoped railgun, slight clicks exiting his mouth as he worked. By the time he had finished a woman wearing a purple and white dress had taken the stage flanked by two other women. The man smirked. "Three little champions…which to choose? Oh, I know…All of them!"<p>

Crimson lightning sparked along the twin magnet arrays, their silver casings affording him a quick glimpse of his assailant as he squeezed the trigger, crimson power armor slamming into the man's side with a heavy iron clang. Blades erupted from beneath the trench coat as the hologram shimmered into the air, Venator digging his clawed hands into the roof as the crimson power armor slid to a halt. A split second glimpse confirmed target injured at the least, Karma surrounded by guards as well as the two women. Venator soon regretted his glimpse as a crimson fist dented his chest plate, a leg following as the machine careened off the roof of the first building, the power armor following shortly after.

It hit the roof of the adjacent building in a roll, Venator quickly turning its momentum into a full sprint as the power armor keep pace perfectly, free running across the rooftops as if born to the dangerous action. As the machine neared the edge of the next high-rise its was forced to stop short, claws digging into concrete as Venator ducked under a thruster aided right hook from the red power armor. Spinning it brought its legs around to sweep the power armor off its feet, the machine's crimson foe crouching as iron met steel, glowing blue eyes possibly more hateful than Venator's own visor seeming to smile at the machine before the left fist of the power armor slammed into the concrete roof, the assassin machine just able to roll away from the blow and continue its mad sprint towards the red lightning arcing across the sky in the distance. For the first time since fighting the Xer' Zix in the forests Venator felt somewhat pleased. Soon thought that morphed into confusion as its head was forced to the side the metal of Venator's neck groaning protest as the machine realized running would solve nothing. The red power armor contemptuously deflected a flurry of stabs and slashes aimed at its neck and armpits before unleashing a thruster aided beat down on the terrified machine, the fighting soon continuing to the streets as Venator was sent hurtling into the crowd by a vicious uppercut cracking the hunter's visor. Terror turned to anger as the red power armor landed in the street, the crowd dispersing as blades erupted from the power armor's forearms their edges sparking with ice blue energy. Blades sprung from their sheaths as Venator removed its collapsible swords for the first time in two years, the edges crackling as the centurion charged them with its own dwindling power. Its swords soon found homes in the walls of the buildings surrounding the two combatants. And Venator laughed. The red lightning had solidified into a crimson pillar, shock troopers accompanied by an alpha materializing in the outskirts before ploughing a path to the assassin. The red power armor was quickly lost in the tide of battle as Venator slipped into the portal to Zaun, the hextech device responsible for the portal shutting off as soon as the battered centurion was safe within the walls of the massive building that stood in place of Zaun.


	8. Lotus

**And done! Its been a bit since I last updated this. Reviews are much appreciated.**

The hospital bed was just like any other. Small, slightly coarse, smelling strongly of antiseptics, and overly white. The woman in in however was far from the normal patient. Irelia marveled at Karma's ability to make even the standard baby blue hospital garb look stately. The empress yawned slightly; the newspaper she had been reading folded carefully and placed on the stark white end table, the label sticker with its red cross peeking out from the edge. Turing her attention from the serene ruler to the hallway could not have presented a more different scene. Hospital staff and guards alike stood aside for the hulking crimson power armor as it stalked through the stark white hall. Vents on the front of the skull like helmet hissed as the man stopped parallel to Irelia. The captain of the guard took a second to take in his appearance, noting the large burn across his chest plate as the icy gaze of the veteran soldier moved lazily up and down her traditional, if somewhat revealing, armor. She would have slapped anyone else, if not killed them on the spot for looking at her like that. "What happened to you?" The man chuckled, his voice grating and somewhat disturbing, as though every word out of his mouth was a death threat.

"Shocktrooper went critical. I trust the duchess is stable?"

"She is. Are you?" The crimson mask turned away from her, blue eyes focusing on the door to Karma's room.

"I'll live. The sniper was a centurion. I want a full report on my desk tomorrow on how that happened." Irelia shivered slightly. Unlike most commanders who would waste no time cursing out any failures within their subordinates the crimson clad general had no need for crass language or angry tones. He could congratulate a soldier on their exceptional performance and the man would be hard pressed not to piss himself on the spot. "Are you cold?" And yet for all the terror he inspired the man really did care for his subordinates. Or he was one hell of a good actor. Irelia never could figure out which.

"No. I…don't feel cold anymore."

"A shame…I suppose you don't feel warmth either." And apparently, despite the rumors that he was little more than sentient crimson power armor, had retained some sense of humor.

She didn't need to open her eyes to know that her general had entered the stark white room. Even a human less attuned to auras was, with concentration, able to sense the barely disguised power and hatred radiating from the crimson clad man. She supposed he made a comical figure sitting in the tiny stool she had ordered brought in specifically to annoy him. She lazily cracked an eye, rich emerald meeting harsh blue. "Would you kindly take that infernal mask off? Red suits you so much better than those cold blue slits." Her general never removed his mask. It seemed to be the one order he actively refused at all times. "You should have stayed at your post." Perhaps the most infuriating subordinate was the reticent one. Karma opened both eyes, shaking her head slightly as the ninja turned general's helmet hissed. "What have you done to yourself Zed?"

"An alpha and twenty shocktroopers were teleported into the city."

"As I am aware."

"A guardsman was uneducated in battlecast anatomy and detonated a shocktrooper's runic core." Karma closed her eyes again. She could feel another migraine coming on.

"Why can't you just do as I say? You do realize how you undermine me every time you do something like this, don't you?" The ninja hissed again metal clanking against the tiled floor as he stood up.

"If I wanted to undermine your power Karma I would dethrone you in a single night. All I ask for is a little gratitude for all I do to keep you where you are. Send me a card if that's all you can manage. The last thing I need is the entire population of Ionia looking to me for answers I don't have when you die. Why I agreed to this half-assed scheme of Syndra's I have no idea." The empress reached up, placing her hand on Zed's chest, his shoulder a bit out of reach.

"You will make a fine emperor. Regardless I don't want to come back to a nation at war. Any military actions will go through me, are we clear?"

"Crystal."

* * *

><p>The drill sergeant had a long list of things he hated. Apparently the yordle woman reading off where the recruits who had finished basic were assigned to was fairly high up on that list. The small woman didn't seem to care though, her cheery voice reminding Caitlyn of Teemo. The soldier to her left, private Marcus Damien gave her a broad grin under his helmet. Her coms crackled for a second the young man's voice filling her ear as if they had been mere inches apart. "So how does it feel to be an elite soldier of humanity?" She chuckled stifling a sarcastic response.<p>

"You tell me, private."

"Freaking amazing! Have you seen some of the stuff this armor can do? The tin cans won't stand a chance once we get out there!" She gulped slightly, her mind trailing back to how easily the machines had slain Jayce's unit. "So, you ready to blast some tin cans?"

"I doubt we'll be deployed that early." The man laughed, the jovial noise raising the markswoman's spirits slightly.

"Who knows? I just want to shoot a few tin cans is all. Maybe even get a centurion head for my little brother…" He was interrupted by the drill sergeant's shouting. "Time to get my can opener! Oh man, I'm so excited! I hope I get assigned a specialist's weapon. Yeah, maybe I'll get a plasma lance! You're automatically slated for an Artemis. No way any of us can out shoot you…" Her smile only grew with his ramblings, the jovial private nearly breaking into a happy dance as he was handed the massive bulk of a plasma lance and its corresponding backpack. As the private had said Caitlyn was in fact handed an Artemis gauss sniper rifle, the scope syncing to her armor as soon as she picked up the weapon.

* * *

><p>Emily Trost was not the best guide. In some ways the swordswoman reminded Caitlyn of Vi. Neither had any sense of direction, both were incredibly standoffish, and both seemed to abhor asking for help of any kind. She wiggled her shoulder slightly, the weight of the Artemis compensated perfectly by her armor. Trost suddenly turned, the blonde biting her lower lip before pointing absentmindedly down a corridor. "That is the women's armory. Why you would feel the need to maintain your weapons in a separate area from the rest of your unit is beyond me but there you have it." She checked a small sheet of paper, Caitlyn catching a glimpse of Jayce's sloppy handwriting before Trost proceeded back the way they had come. "The rest of this is the useful stuff…probably. Freaking Jayce…has he ever been able to write?"<p>

"No, Ma'am." Trost visibly cringed at the second half of the crisp response.

"Look, I don't know what that asshole Sanders told you but we generally don't do that sort of thing. All of us are in the same boat here and as long as you respect command's orders and don't cause problems why can't we all be friends?" Caitlyn nodded. "Oh and Jayce has requested a promotion for you actions in the league and Piltover. Kinda bullshit if you ask me…" Again Caitlyn simply nodded. No reason to make a bad impression on her new CO. "Anyway over here is where you'll be sleeping." She pointed to a crisp, fresh made bed, the sheets the same faded teal as every other. "That's my bunk. Yours is two to the left and one up." They passed a few more rooms before the lieutenant turned on her heel into a dimly lit room, a few human soldiers with yordles seated on books interspersed within the group. "Poker. Feel free to join just don't tell Walt. He never loses and we like our money."

"Right." Trost proved to be a fast walker, the ex-sheriff having to jog to keep up with the taller woman.

"As far as people you need to know Teemo is General of the Scouts, Rumble leads the armored division, Viegar is head mage, Rose is the spy mistress, and Tristana is head of the Megling Commandos. We are the only unit possessing power armor. We are also the smallest unit in Bandle City. It takes about three men or six yordles with conventional armor to equal a shocktrooper. For every one soldier Bandle City has Viktor has thousands. You can see why we're losing." Caitlyn nodded, Trost shutting her eye before continuing. "Of course power armor tips the scales a bit. One of us is equivalent to ten shocktroopers or roughly one tenth of a centurion. Add in guass rifles, plasma lances, and other gadgets and we're still out gunned on a thirteen hundred to one basis. Theoretically. In truth most of the regiment has no idea what a machine does or even looks like. Only thirty soldiers in the regiment have combat experience against battlecasts. About half have fought in the recent conflicts between Demacia and Noxus. The rest are naïve recruits that think if they squeeze the trigger hard enough and shout one-liners they can win the war on their own." Caitlyn looked down, her mind trailing back to the rest of the recruits and their boastful claims as to how many tin cans they were going to kill.

"Lieutenant Trost, ma'am, is this war winnable?" Trost took her time answering, a thin hand rubbing at her eye before she spoke.

"I doubt it…perhaps Ionia could hold out for a few months but it'd only prolong the inevitable. Once Bandle City falls Viktor will take Shurima and Freljord. After that Bilgewater will fall followed by Ionia. The shadow isles will put up the best fight, lasting only a few years tops as Viktor's larger machines sweep the ghosts and whatnot. The only way we win is if some miracle happens in Zaun, one of those machines has to revolt against Viktor, or at least turn his attention away from the battle long enough for us to land a strike on Zaun itself."

* * *

><p>Aatrox watched the machine enter his prison with mock surprise. He had felt its runic power source approaching since it entered the prison complex. Two pairs of glowing red eyes met as the machine addressed the god. "You made the changes we agreed on?" The lack of monotony in its voice was strange to say the least but Aatrox had seen stranger. The darkin flicked the restraining devices, the metal orbs shattering at his touch.<p>

"Not quite. An outright betrayal would be absurd. You might as well have asked me to destroy Zaun. No, this must be a human victory. They must prove themselves worthy." The machine stared at him, Aatrox unperturbed by its obvious anger. "For now I simply planted the seed, a sense of honor replacing blind devotion. Soon enough we shall reap the rewards." The machine pressed the center of a small cylindrical device, power surging back into Aatrox as he unfurled banner like wings.

"Perhaps you can even the odds for the humans a bit?"

"That I will do."

* * *

><p>Viktor's respirator was having trouble keeping up with his lungs, the Creator utilizing all his self control not to smash Venator into tiny bits. "Not only did you fail your mission but you revealed the storm portal? I should have you disassembled for this… no matter though. Your skills will be required again shortly." The creator turned to a screen mounted on the arm of his throne. "Chief Techmaturge Calias, what is the status of project ascendant?" the youngman on the screen scratched the back of his head, his face radiating youthful energy as he checked a tablet held precariously in a metal arm attached to his back, a second one holding his tools within easy reach.<p>

"Ah excellent, sir. We should be right on schedule with the new orbital kinetic weapon." Viktor resisted the urge to shatter the tiny screen.

"And what of the seed project?"

"Completed, sir. The launchers are ready to be fitted to our artillery." Under his mask Viktor grinned slightly. At least one of his possible contingency plans for taking Bandle City would be fully operational.

"Very good. Fit the first artillery with the seed launchers and prep them for battle in Bandle City. Due to a…miscalculation" He directed his gaze to Venator, the machine kneeling slightly more submissively if possible, " we will have to accelerate our plans."


End file.
